


A Simple Scent

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: Lyrium Ghost [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Apples, F/M, M/M, Nature, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: Prompt: “A sacred little fragrance” for FenHawke, from @Aban-AsaaraWritten gender neutral, so works for any Hawke in a relationship with Fenris.





	A Simple Scent

The moon was full, lighting his way through the shadows of Hightown with a silvered glow. Fenris often stalked the streets at night, restlessly wandering Kirkwall as a rare glimmer of order in the chaotic city. 

Hawke had been busy today discussing something presumably dangerous with the abomination, and had not come by the mansion in the evening as they often did. That wasn’t the problem. He had simply needed something to do, for his mind would not let him rest.

Fenris slipped out of the shadows between two of the mansions, stopping as the wrought iron fences dragged him out of his dark reverie. Before him was the well-tended garden of some noble family, hidden away from everyone else by a locked gate.  _ Nobles and their possessions, _ he thought bitterly.  _ Most do not care about the needs of anyone save themselves. _

As he turned to leave, an ethereal glow from farther down the fence drew his attention. Pale blossoms of white swayed on crooked branches in the moonlight. In a flash of sweet, unburdened memory he knew which tree it was – the apple tree. He had stood on these same stones in the autumn and seen its branches laden with fruit. 

It drew him in like an open door, like Hawke’s outstretched hand, calloused and warm. He did not understand this attraction, which gave him pause. Fenris’s brow furrowed as he searched the manicured enclosure, elven eyes searching for a threat that was not there.  

The lock was in his hands, the tools Isabela had given him twisting and snicking inside the iron. It was not a skill he employed often, but breaking in to the garden still took only a moment. He slipped through the opening, swift strides silently closing the distance to the apple tree. 

A breeze sent petals fluttering toward him. Sweet and tart, the scent of apple blossoms flooded his senses, the night air ruffling his silver hair. He breathed deeply, eyes drifting closed, bare toes pressed into the soft earth as he stood, basking in memories that brought only comfort.  

_ Catching a lumpy red fruit, tossed from Hawke’s hand as they searched Sundermount for the Dalish. Unfamiliar, rare in the scalding steam and sand of the Imperium. Sweet, but not cloying. Only one worm, and he worried bits of fruit off the shriveled core for half an hour. _

Green eyes drifted open, and he stepped forward to run his fingers lightly over the flowers. Such soft round petals on such gnarled, uneven branches. Beauty without perfection. Artistry beside pain. He cradled a cluster of blossoms between his hands, silver lines of lyrium shining beside the blushing white and pale green. Burying his face in the light blossoms, Fenris let everything else fall away, petals drifting down onto his hair.

_ Better apples, through the years. He could smell them in Hawke’s pack when they opened it. Slicing one in half to share, always giving Fenris the core. More tart than sweet, an invigorating scent and brilliant green skin. Hawke teased that these should be his favorite - they matched his eyes. _

The curve of his body smoothed, bending toward the apple tree. His shoulders eased, his breath deepened, tension draining away. Fenris laughed softly, the sound startling in the quiet night. 

_ He found his favorite wandering the docks, that sacred scent filtering out of a shipping barrel from across the Waking Sea. Red and green streaked together into gold, covering an ambrosial mix of sugar and sour. Silver in the barrel to cover those he took, and Hawke’s eyes fluttered closed in delight when they sank their teeth into one in the parlor.  They kissed him soundly, apple juice sweetening both their lips. Bodahn’s chuckle had brought a blush of red to Fenris’s ears. _

Well-oiled leather and steel, Fenris leaned his greatsword against the bole of the tree and climbed easily onto the largest branch. A few petals shook loose as he settled his weight, curving his body along the uneven trunk. 

Until Seheron, he had never had a choice in what to believe. No option for what to think, beyond how to fulfill his master’s needs. Fenris had believed in the doctrine of Andraste, listened to the hand-picked stories and oppressive rhetoric because he did not know of anything else. Chantry symbols did not matter to him anymore, and had made Danarius powerful. The hidden Canticle of Shartan demonstrated that if the stories had ever been true, it had changed a long time ago.

He leaned his head back against another branch, creaking slightly in the wind. Apple-filled air kept his breaths even and deep, pale petals a sharp contrast against his dark, angular armor. He unbuckled one gauntlet, Hawke’s red scarf knotted around the opposite wrist. The smooth petal was so small, simple and powerful – much like the scarf.

This apple tree meant more to him than the Chantry. The scent brought him peace, and memories of the person he… the person he loved. Hawke. That he even understood love was part of this story of apples and trust.

A quiet rasp of steel drew his attention back to the gate as it moved, admitting a cautious guardsman a few dozen yards away. _Well._ _Very little can dampen my mood tonight,_ he thought with a soft smile, tugging his gauntlet back into place. The young woman was cautiously making her way toward him, stark and clear in the brilliant moonlight.

The tip of her sword dropped and she blew out a relieved breath as she approached. 

“Serah Fenris?” Guardsman Brennan asked brusquely, tilting her head in confusion. “Why are you in a tree? Why are you in here at all?”

“This is an apple tree,” Fenris replied with a sweeping gesture of one spiked hand.

The guardsman looked to either side of the tree, as if expecting something to appear out of the night. “Alright, why did you break into this estate to sit in an  _ apple _ tree?”   

“Have you ever had a simple thing become almost sacred to you?” It was perfectly sensible, now that he considered it. Someone had decided what was sacred to the Chantry, and he could choose what was sacred to him as well.

“Apples?” Brennan sounded incredulous, even after Fenris nodded. “Why would apples be sacred?” 

He dropped lightly from the tree, letting his fingers brush the soft grass as he landed. The bright promise of the blossoms’ fragrance still surrounded him, and he found himself smiling widely at the young guardswoman, though he barely knew her. 

“For a lot of reasons.”

Fenris retrieved his sword and finished the night’s patrol with Brennan, and she seemed to appreciate the company once he locked the gate and stopped acting like “one of those Dalish elves from the alienage.” He smiled, realizing that he understood that aspect of Merrill a bit more, now.

Returning to his mansion after midnight, he was surprised to find Hawke asleep by his fire. The alluring smell of apples was here as well, the source being two pieces of apple pie on the table. He crouched down and slid the (now half-empty) bottle of milk from Hawke’s hand. They stirred at his touch, jerking awake as the bench behind them slid on the stone floor. 

“Mhmmm, Fen. Hi,” was Hawke’s bleary start. “You weren’t here.” The back of their hair was sticking straight up, and they smelled more of elfroot than of apple pie. 

“I apologize.” Fenris smiled.  _ I am glad to have learned of love in their hands. _ “I am here now, Hawke.” He reached out and Hawke clasped his forearm, letting Fenris pull both of them to their feet. 

A pleased sound escaped Hawke’s lips as he pulled them into an embrace, hands pressing into his back, chin resting on his shoulder. It was not often that the two of them were close, given the chaos that their intimacy had created in Fenris’s memory of the past. 

“You smell like earth and flowers, Fen.” A confused rumble tinged Hawke’s voice as they pulled a petal out of his collar. 

“There was an apple tree,” Fenris replied, pressing his lips against Hawke’s jaw. “I will show you tomorrow night.”

A smile lit Hawke’s face at the mention of apples, and they pulled back. “I brought pie!” The grin widened mischievously. “Though I nearly ate it without you.” 

“Share it with me for breakfast, then.” He understood the flicker of confusion that scrunched Hawke’s brow – sharing his bed was not common occurrence.

“Alright, I’ll come back for breakf--”

“Stay, Hawke.” His mind was at peace. “I promise you, no nightmares tonight.” 

They fell asleep to the sacred scent of apple blossoms, and woke to the scent of apple pie warming in the morning sun.


End file.
